The Dinner Table

A lot of American families I grew up with, they had dinner all together. My family rarely ate together. My sisters couldn’t stand the sight of me, and my parents worked late. So I ate what I could. Mostly candy, chips and other garbage I could get my hands on. The only reason I’m not over 300 lbs. is because I spent most of my mornings to afternoon playing around the neighborhood. I don’t ever recall staying at home very long. It wasn’t worth it, since there was nothing like video games or internet to distract me. It did, however, challenge my imagination. And we formed many an art and crafts group. I realize quick, the reason to get kids to do anything is have them belong in a group. People need purpose. When you are first able to talk to when you’re on practically at Death’s door, having purpose keeps you alive.

The American dinner table fascinated me. I went to my college girlfriend’s house one holiday, and we woke up and had breakfast…together. I mentioned how I never ate meals with the family together. She found that odd. Well, it’s not the complete truth, my parents would have parties, to which everyone would eat at the banquet room at my Dad’s restaurant. But she was forced to eat with her family. Daily. They had a schedule. Her mother was a homemaker, very proper lady…her smile was that gritted teeth East Coast Maryland grit. I can still hear her calm motherly voice. Her daughter shared that voice. The exasperated tone of seasonal life. She had an icy cold stare, seen through blue green eyes. Tired with the outside elements slowly chipping away at a pebble look. This is something passed onto my girlfriend (at the time). The look is very haunting. I pity the children she has now, if they ever get into any trouble. But I do wonder, if that family dinner tradition continued with her. I know for a lot of families, that dynamic is long dead and gone. And I miss looking at it. In a Norman Rockwell way. For the brief moment of civility, parents and kids sat together and attempted to have civility. The “attempt” is what was important. I think as an artist, having tune yourself to normalcy is a fantastic thing. Too often, I think we try to break a mold of some kind. Perceived mold anyway. The pretentious guy often believes they need the sting of despair in order to create.

There is nothing wrong in seeing that dinner table. I sincerely believe, Americans miss it.